


sex with a ghost (cause qi knows i’m alone)

by vanillaskin



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Apologies, Commie is Frustrated, Communist-Centric, Confrontations, Crying, Dialogue Heavy, Flowers, Ghost Sex, Guilt, Haunting, Mentioned Ancap, Mentioned Nazi, Other, Posthumous Kissing, ancom would definitely haunt commie and cause emotional chaos in his life just because qis petty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26526652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillaskin/pseuds/vanillaskin
Summary: Qi always drove him over the edge, pushed him to do things he wouldn’t normally do, and was the one to pressure Commie enough to band all of the authleft and libleft ideologies together for a leftist revolution against the right. If it wasn’t for qi’s constant prompting, nagging, and slurred speeches to Commie while intoxicated, maybe this all wouldn’t have happened; for Commie had always been discouraged to ever start a revolution again on his own before he started courting Ancom. He was scared that he wouldn’t have been able to do it on his own after many crash and burn attempts in the past- but Ancom gave him just the right fuel he needed. He did it all for Ancom, just to have qi be sacrificed in the end.It was bound to happen anyway, in one way or another. This ending was inevitable; Ancom should’ve expected this since the beginning. Revolutions always end in the same way each and every time— the anarchist will always lose. The revolution was for the people and the abolition of the neo-liberal status quo. This had to be done, there was no avoiding it, but god does it hurt.
Relationships: Ancom/Commie, leftist unity - Relationship
Comments: 31
Kudos: 68





	sex with a ghost (cause qi knows i’m alone)

**Author's Note:**

> this is supposed to take place right after the video “what happens after a leftist revolution.”
> 
> if you’ve read my last work and notice that they have similar base of ghost/person i promise you i DO NOT have a ghost fetish it is purely coincidence 
> 
> kinda based on teddy hyde’s “sex with a ghost” so if you want to give it a listen, go ahead
> 
> no betas we die like men
> 
> enjoy

To say Commie felt guilty was an understatement.

There Ancom laid— qis body still, face first into the yellow flowers as the early morning sunrise illuminates qis body. The bullet wound in the back of qis head was a crimson red, the blood still dripping from it almost in clumps, resembling brain matter. 

Qis hands were sprawled over qis head, positioned as if Ancom was trying to crawl away; which just broke Commie’s heart even more. He wanted to reach down to lift his anarchist counterpart off of the golden flowers, and hold the anarchist in his arms and tell qi that he was sorry, that he regretted even considering hurting qim, but he knew that would be a lie— so he decided not to do so. 

The communist looked over Ancom’s body once more, shivering at the sight of seeing the love of his life’s body, lifeless and unmoving, which was never going to change- and it was all out of Commie’s selfishness.

‘I’m not selfish,’ Commie thought. ‘This needed to be done. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to achieve true communism.’

But was it really worth having to sacrifice his lover?

Commie dropped down to a squat before finally resting on his knees, resting his right hand on the right side of Ancom’s body and using his left to lightly drag qim by qis hoodie, flipping Ancom’s body over. Qis face was then illuminated by the red sunrise, the light dashing and racing all over Ancom as if it was trying to find something to hold onto, and qis green glow seemed to fade more and more by the milliseconds.

Qis face was supple; nose red from hitting the ground face first, speckles of dirt aligning qis pale skin. The tear that fell down qis face, which was the tear of joy qi let out for the leftist revolution’s success was still there, low on qis chin as it finally dropped down to soak into qis hoodie. The communist stared down at the anarchist, the pain bubbling up in his system as he muttered his apologies which was all glossed over by the reasoning that it had to be done. 

Qi was still pretty even posthumously, at least in Commie’s opinion— but not in the lifelike sameness— qis skin was growing pale and grayish despite the sun highlighting qis feminine, boyish features. Parts of qis face which were normally flushed with pink were now turning a grayish, muddy green which sent chills down the statist’s spine.

Did he really do this? Did he seriously go through with sacrificing Ancom? Or was this all some fucked up dream, and Commie was going to wake up soon, back in his bed that he shared with Ancom, hearing Ancap microwave bagels at 3 in the morning, and Nazi snoring loudly in the other room?

But he had to accept the hard truth- it wasn’t. Ancom and Nazi are dead, and Ancap was banished from society entirely- along with his other libright counterparts, such as Libertarian and Hoppean. The Leftist Revolution had succeeded, and Commie always thought this would be the prime, most happiest moment of his life- but it wasn’t.

He felt like a traitor for thinking this way, a traitor to his people for feeling remorse for an anarchist, and maybe even the other extremists; but he was so blinded by the drive to create a communist utopia for his people that he left his own personal morality behind ages ago. Deep down, he thinks that if he could take it all back he would do it— the idea of suddenly being back in his shared apartment arguing over bagels with the extremists suddenly seems so… appealing to Commie. 

It was then when he realized he took the old, short-lived simplicity of his life for granted, before the Centricide, before the revolution, before his closest yet also polar-opposite comrades were gone. 

The communist stared down at Ancom’s body as it slowly turned cold, grimacing as memories of them turning against their rightist counterparts flash quickly before his eyes like a fucked up slideshow, dancing across his psyche like a flapper. 

Qi always drove him over the edge, pushed him to do things he wouldn’t normally do, and was the one to pressure Commie enough to band all of the authleft and

libleft ideologies together for a leftist revolution against the right. If it wasn’t for qi’s constant prompting, nagging, and slurred speeches to Commie while intoxicated, maybe this all wouldn’t have happened; for Commie had always been discouraged to ever start a revolution again on his own before he started courting Ancom. He was scared that he wouldn’t have been able to do it on his own after many crash and burn attempts in the past- but Ancom gave him just the right fuel he needed. He did it all for Ancom, just to have qi be sacrificed in the end.

It was bound to happen anyway, in one way or another. This ending was inevitable; Ancom should’ve expected this since the beginning. Revolutions always end in the same way each and every time— the anarchist will always lose. The revolution was for the people and the abolition of the neo-liberal status quo. This had to be done, there was no avoiding it, but god does it _hurt_.

Part of Commie wanted to believe that Ancom knew what was going on the moment they stepped into the field of golden flowers, knew that Commie was going to betray qim and that qis death would be a sick parody of _Mice and Men—_ but that could be far from the truth.

To put it simply, Commie betrayed qim in their greatest moment; taking advantage of how naive Ancom was to the statist’s true intentions. It was selfish for a cause, a cause that only ideologies in the authleft were a part of, and their new begrudged citizens. 

Snapping out of his trance, Commie quickly got back onto his feet. He had to leave soon, as he would rather not have some rogue socialist discover what he had just done. Though he knows that people would figure it out one way or another just through the fact that Ancom had disappeared, Commie would prefer not to be discovered in such a vulnerable moment.

Commie looked around at the area surrounding him for a quick second before squatting down again quickly to pick one of the golden flowers out of the dirt. He sighed as he painfully placed them on the anarchist’s chest, and slightly dragged Ancom’s hands to hold them in place. 

_“That’s pretty.”_ The communist, startled, stood up straight as he looked behind him, swearing to himself that he heard a whisper near him. The whisper was too incoherent to make out a distinct voice- but Commie could attest to the full certainty that it could’ve been Ancom’s. It was soft with a slight squeak to it, almost child-like in a way, but the tone was darker and quite more serious than how Ancom usually spoke— but the Communist would expect that Ancom would be quite serious if qi were to talk to him from the afterlife. The communist shivered as he tried to brush it off as his mind playing tricks on him- as he was sure ideologies wouldn’t come back as _ghosts._

He had to get out of there. The eerie energy of the air was getting into his head.

  
  
  
  


The streets were dirty, dark, and quiet as Commie walked back to his apartment. The whole day had been a celebration that the leftist revolution had finally prevailed, with the leftist ideologies drinking and smoking as they cheered on civilians to do outrageous, drunken, and embarrassing acts. Ideologies rarely ever had recreational interactions with civilians, as it seemed awkward because the two groups had nothing in common. You couldn’t even really say ideologies were truly _human,_ but rather immortal, god-like personifications of belief systems who still bled red. 

It was always civilians who ended up leading countries, though- the ideologies were more of idols to the civilians than actual leaders. Commie had always been disappointed, though, that true communism has never been achieved by a civilian leader unlike what most civilians like to believe. He was there to watch all of it ever since The Communist Manifesto was written, for that was when Commie was “born,”— if that is the right term to use.

Commie was a few decades older to Ancom as Ancom was to Nazi as Nazi was to Ancap; and even though Ancom was the second oldest out of the extremists, Commie still felt the need to take Ancom under his wing, protect and look over qi— which Commie never realized was romantic love until only a few decades ago. They had been in a serious relationship since, both moving in with Nazi and Ancap to dilute the cost of rent. (Ancap could’ve moved out and lived in his own house if he wanted to, but he was too attached to the other Extremists to do so.)

Commie still remembers the first sentence qi said which led them both him and Ancom to start it all— “I hate our roommates.”

And God does Commie wish that he never even joked about insinuating doing anything close to modern leftist revolution. 

_“It’s so quiet.”_ Commie nearly jumped, looking up at the second story shop window, and he could almost swear he saw Ancom in it-

_“What’s wrong?”_ Commie jolted his head to the left, hearing Ancom’s voice more distinctly now. Fear crept up the communist’s spine as he started power-walking to his apartment, which was only one block away now. Commie hearing Ancom’s voice over and over again posthumously only made him feel worse, and his justification for the sacrifice started to slowly dilute into selfishness. 

_“I thought you said hearing my voice comforting?”_

The more clearly Ancom spoke added more weight on Commie’s heart as he started to run with cold sweat forming on his forehead. The damp ground combined with the humid air made a significant falling hazard, and honestly, Commie wouldn’t be surprised if Ancom tried to push him over to make him hit his head on the curb. He deserved it. Commie had finally realized that he is evil, just as evil as Ancap and Nazi would ever be. He was always too embarrassed to admit it until now, and felt as if he should’ve realized it sooner.

  
  
  
  


Stepping into the apartment felt similar to stepping into an old childhood home that was long forgotten. All of the lights were off, making everything appear grayscale and dull. The absence of light coming through one of the doors leading to a bedroom or a bathroom put a sharp pain into Commie’s heart, the horrific feeling knowing that he will never see his beloved roommates again settled into him.

The dust on the couch, the crack in the wall, the strong smell of Nag Champa, and the feeling of the carpet conforming around Commie’s boots left him with a sense of nostalgia on what used to be. How Ancap would be heating up and icing a bagel around this time of night, with Ancom sleeping on the couch and Nazi screaming off the top of his lungs while playing a video game. Everything reminded Commie of Ancom in particular, and staring around the room, Commie can pinpoint over 20 spots where he remembers Ancom standing, either leaning against a wall or drunkenly laughing in the middle of the room. He bit his lip, reminiscing on how when he used to walk into the apartment, Ancom would be there waiting for him on the couch— bong in hand, staring up at Commie with a smile. That was never going to happen again.

Usually, when Commie would walk into a dark, empty house he would’ve assumed his roommates went out to get dinner without him. He would’ve been slightly disappointed that no one told him, he would’ve texted Ancom or Nazi asking where everyone went, and they wouldn’t have answered. When they would get home, Commie would tease the three about leaving him out, and they would apologize profusely, only to boost Commie’s ego more than it already has been. Ancom would promise they would include him next time, Ancap would reluctantly bake a homemade pizza out of guilt, and Nazi would simply just slip out a small “sorry.”

Commie always knew to be grateful for the small things ever since the 40’s, and he was; but he only now realized that he took all of his memories in this godforsaken apartment for granted. What was once a home for ideologies on the opposite ends of the spectrum was now a ghost house, with an unsettling atmosphere that would make anyone have goosebumps.

Commie turned slightly to the left as he flicked the light switch on, the incandescent light illuminating the room. The colors seemed less saturated now, the painting on the wall seemed more dull and the couch seemed to be a more muddy green. ‘They used to be much more vibrant,’ he thought as he sighed, walking towards the direction of his bedroom which he once shared with Ancom.

Every step towards his bedroom was nothing short of painful. It felt almost as if a sharp jolt struck the communist’s legs with each step, the dirt from his boots muddying the carpet as he walked. He walked slowly, similar to how slow he would walk when he would help a nearly passed out Ancom to bed, making sure qim is standing up right every step of the way. But this time, he’s checking himself.

He bent down after he reached the door to take off his boots, unzipping the back of them to allow himself to slip his feet out. His socks were dry unlike his combat boots were, thoroughly protected by the strong leather. They were a white cotton, the same ones that Ancap had gotten him for his birthday. He took them off hurriedly, a wave of frustration and overstimulation washed over him as his anxiety grew. The weight on his heart had grown ten pounds ever since he had walked into the apartment, he felt as if something was watching him, perhaps through a window or maybe even behind him.

He stood back up, sucking in his breath quickly. In a burst of confidence, he opened the door with a jolt, closing his eyes as he did so, scared he would see someone on the other side. The presence of another loomed in the air as Commie slowly peeled his red long coat off. His breath was shaky as his coat fell to the floor, billowing around his ankles. He opened his eyes slightly, eyes pointed downwards. He saw black, worn high-top converse against pale skin, swinging back and forth, hitting the mattress each time.

Commie jolted his eyes up quickly, gawking at the sight of Ancom, who looked like a mess— qis eyes were glassy and qis lips were puffy and red, with qis curls were going every which way. Qi held qis black bandana scrunched up in qis right hand, looking up at the communist with big eyes. Qis dark red, plaid skirt billowed against the bed, with qis green hoodie covering the top hem of it. Qi was picture perfect, in the sense that this exact image of Ancom was almost the same as the aftermath of qis appearance after they had hooked up for the first time. Ancom bit qis lip only slightly before qi smiled at Commie, saying,

“Why do you look so pale? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Ancom taunted Commie in a way that sent chills into his body, and it was more than disturbing, to say the least. Qi looked beautiful and it disgusted Commie. 

Commie always thought that ghosts were supposed to look horrifying, disgusting, inhuman, and almost demonic like— not the picture that Ancom has painted before him. He didn’t know how to feel, whether to scream or to cry, whether to apologize to accuse. Nearly every emotion was coursing through his body as his eyes raked over Ancom’s figure, filling him with disgust, guilt, anger,-

“You usually look so happy when you see me. Do I lo-“

Commie’s breathing became labored before storming over towards Ancom as qi talked, cutting qi off as he pinned qi down to the bed, holding each of qis wrists down with a vice grip. He propped up both of his knees onto the bed to trap Ancom in place, staring down at qis flushed and surprised face.

“What do you want from me? Why are you doing this?” Commie asked with a shaky voice, gripping the anarchist’s wrists tighter as Ancom replied with a short- lived laugh.

“Well, you betrayed me so I’m obviously going to haunt you.” Ancom laughed as qi spoke, feeling sore as Commie sunk qis wrists further into the mattress.

“I had to! You don’t fucking.. you don’t understand. I had to do it for my people, Anarkiddie. It was a worthy sacrifice. There was no other way.” The pain in Commie’s voice was apparent as he spoke, looking down at Ancom with sympathetic eyes while qi looked up at Commie with lustful ones.

“I can read you like a book. I know you regret it. We could’ve had a compromise, y’know? Not everything has to be about you, you statist scum. Can't you see? You stood in the way of leftist unity. You’re a-“ 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Ancom, I’m so sorry. Please, please, forgive me Anarkiddie. Ple-“ Ancom cut the communist off with an abrupt kiss, which Commie immediately fell into, deepening it. Kissing Ancom felt like eating the first bite of the favorite meal you haven’t had in years, and before Commie could dare try to use his tongue, he pulled away.

“Stop kissing me! What are you, an _incubus_? Are you trying to kill me?” He scolded, furrowing his brow as he looked down at an unbothered Ancom.

“What are you gonna do about it, huh? You gonna crush me with the state?” 

That was what pushed Commie over the edge.

Commie hastily turned his anarchist counterpart over onto qis stomach with a swift motion, causing Ancom to let out a high-pitched yelp. Commie’s breathing was labored as the anarchist turned qis head back to look at Commie, smirking as qi felt Commie’s large, lanky hand crawl up qis thigh. 

“What’s the point in this, Ancom? You just came back to do this with me? One last climax before entering the afterlife? What are you, some kind of anarchist whore?” The question was less hot as it was genuine, but the frustration in the communist’s voice only excited Ancom even more.

“I really just wanted to see the look on your face- _aah!”_ Ancom was cut off as Commie slid his right hand under Ancom’s skirt, palming Ancom through qis boxers. A flush of intimacy washed over the leftists as Commie’s breathing started to steady, and Ancom’s whines grew louder. 

“You know- _aaah_ -I thought that I wou-would be more, uh-upset about dying, b-b-but,” Ancom, even after death, was still seemingly so sensitive to stimulation, that even only palming could have qim turn into a stuttering mess under the communist’s grip. Qi had slightly given up on qis statement, with qis whines overtaking qis actual voice. 

“But what? Come on, tell me, _koshka._ Tell me how you feel. Give me closure, Anarkiddie, please.” Despite how utterly dirty and erotic this situation was, you could still hear the pain prevelant in Commie’s voice, his voice breaking mid-sentence, sounding as if he was on the verge of tears. Murdering your lover was traumatic already, but seeing them come back from the dead as a _ghost_ and offering you _sex_ of all things was something unheard of to Commie. 

“I-I, it’s so… it’s so peaceful. It’s so beautiful. I, I… I can't even.. _ah-_ “ Ancom instinctively spread qis legs, with qis thighs and calves frantically trying to find balance as they shook, trying to find a grip on the ground that they couldn't reach. Commie, with a swift motion, pulled down qis boxers to restrict movement in qis thighs, trapping qim underneath Commie as he wrapped a hand around qis length. 

“Oh God, oh _fuck-_ “ Ancom muttered inbetween cries, Commie leaving qim helpless inbetween cries as he started to stroke up and down, slightly twisting his hand around the tip, knowing that slight motion always drove Ancom to a state of euphoria. Ancom started to tear up, as qi drooled slightly onto the bed sheet.

“It’s okay, it’s okay… you’re okay,” Commie muttered into Ancom’s ear, which Ancom took as soothing for qim, but it was more of a self reassurance to Commie to try and convince himself Ancom was actually… alive. He curled his hand into qis hair, his thumb lightly petting underneath Ancom’s sharp ear. Ancom sunk into the praise, relaxing in Commie’s touch as qi just let qimself _feel,_ trying not to let qimself think and letting qis mind go blank. 

“Tankie, please, just- _oh my god._ ” The anarchist moaned loudly as Commie swirled his thumb around qis tip, making Ancom’s head spin. Commie bit his lip, feeling unsure as his emotions continuously overwhelm him, feeling so remorseful, frustrated, and weirdly aroused at the same time. What came of these mixed thoughts is what made him go faster and faster on Ancom’s length, making the anarchist cry out in wanton moans that filled the room like a symphony. 

“Please, just, hurry up, Just do it.” Ancom muttered quietly. Qi was only shy in bed when qi wasn’t the one in control- Ancom hated directly asking for what qi wanted, but loved to tease Commie the way qi hated to hear Commie use it on qimself. 

“Alright, Ancom.. just give me a second.” Commie almost whispers this as he carefully let go of Ancom’s length, which made Ancom whimper at the lost contact. Commie had a war in his mind as he brought his knees to one side of the bed, slipping himself off of it and reaching the drawer. He opened the top one, and the drawer immediately greeted him with lotion, lube, a few books, and loose change. He grabbed the lube quickly, clenching his jaw as he realizes that this is quite possibly the last time he would be doing this for Ancom. He exhaled a shaky breath similarly to how someone would breathe in their intense cold, basking in Ancom’s short-lived return.

“Stay still for me, Ancom, okay?” Commie said gently as he sat at the edge of the bed, popping the cap off of the lube, watching goosebumps form against Ancom’s pale skin. Usually, in these situations, Commie would be secretly ecstatic, straight to the point, and tease Ancom to the point where qi was begging for it— which was really just feeding into his power fetish that he got from being a statist. But now was different, it felt much more intimate and personal to Commie, while to Ancom it felt like a _game._ Commie knew that after this was over, it was gonna fuck him up harder than Commie had ever fucked Ancom, hurt him more than any other killing that he has committed, and completely shatter Commie’s worldview— but to him, it didn’t matter. He deserved it, anyway. It’s what he should’ve expected for betraying his lover, hell, Commie would switch places with Ancom in a heartbeat if it meant Ancom would be happy, and more importantly, _alive._

Ancom watched, transfixed as Commie coated his middle finger with the cloudy, clear lube. Ancom found that, after death, a good way to get revenge on the communist was simply just feeding into Commie’s fantasies; giving him what he wants then leaving at the worst time to make him truly regret what he had done. Ancom worked hard for a revolution, leftist unity, and true equality, and qi wasn’t going to let Commie get away with what he had done just like that— qi wanted Commie to feel the pain of losing everything within a matter of seconds— similarly to how qi felt. Ancom knew being a vengeful soul was a bad thing to be, but god _,_ just give qim at least this before qi could truly rest. 

The statist’s lubricated middle finger brushed against the anarchist’s rim, in which Ancom let out a shaky sigh in response. Commie turned his head slightly, making eye contact with his anarchist counterpart, silently asking for consent. The anarchist gave a quick nod, uttering something under qis breath trying to get Commie to move on with it. 

“Suck in,”

Ancom sucked in.

“And out.”

Just as Ancom breathed out, Commie slipped his finger in with a sneaky motion, causing Ancom to-

“ _Aah!_ ..Okay, okay.. ngh, move. Move.” 

“Alright, alright jeez. No need to hurry me up, _koshka._ ” Commie chuckled despite the circumstances, feeling the slight sense of normalcy between the two, but it was quite heavily overshadowed by the fact that Ancom, in technicality, wasn’t even physically _present._

The communist slowly retracted his finger before sinking it back in again, repeating this motion a few times before curling his finger at a certain spot, making the anarchist’s legs flinch as Ancom started moaning a bit louder than before. Commie kept his fingers there, applying just the right pressure to watch Ancom squirm under his hold. 

“You’re so pretty, you’re so beautiful. Oh, Anarkiddie..” Commie muttered praise under his breath as he slowly let up on Ancom’s prostate, sneakily lubricating his pointer finger. Ancom melted into the praise, slightly bucking back onto Commie’s finger, noticing the communist slowing down significantly. Qi was just about to speak up when Commie slid in his second finger. Ancom was floored as Commie nearly immediately started scissoring qim open, letting out lewd, high-pitched moans that sounded like something straight from a porno.

Commie was quick with his fingers, opening as he thrusted in, and closing as he thrusted out. Ancom’s legs fidgeted as qi quickly gripped onto the sheets to exert qis energy somewhere, trying to ground qimself. Qis moans grew louder and louder, screwing qis eyes shut for a few seconds before opening them half-lidded, staring at Commie with glossy, lustful eyes. Commie slowed as he maintained eye contact with Ancom, gawking at the sight before him. This was the last time he was ever going to see this and it was hard to accept— seeing Ancom like this was one of his favorite sights and now Commie wasn’t sure if he could give it up.

“So pretty for me, God, Anarkiddie.. you’re killing me here.” The communist uttered as he broke eye contact, fastening his pace once again, staring at how he’s splitting Ancom open on two fingers.

“Shit, T-Tankie, if you’re gonna fuck...ngh.. me just d-do it already.” Ancom managed to slip out between whines, biting qis lip to try and conceal them. 

“I think you can take one more.”

“Tankie- _aah!”_ Ancom was interrupted as Commie slipped in his ring finger, unlubed as Ancom’s hole was already covered with lube enough on its own. He thrust his fingers in and out fast with no particular motion as Ancom buried qis face into a pillow him and Commie once used to share.

The communist didn’t include his third finger for long, though— growing impatient as his pants started to tighten around a sensitive area. He finished prepping Ancom with a quick “come here,” motion before exiting qim, causing the anarchist to whine at the loss.

Commie sighed, staring at the sight before him, and paused before saying-

“Can you flip over? I wanna look at you while we..-“

Ancom flipped over onto qis back slowly, maintaining eye contact with Commie as qi did so. Qi spread qis legs wide from the communist, causing a shaky exhale from Commie. 

“Yeah.. that’s.. perfect, Ancom.” Commie said quietly as he unzipped his suit pants, and let his cock slip out through the slit of his boxers. He kneeled in between the anarchist’s legs, resting his hands lightly on the undersides of qis thighs. He took in the view as tears welled in his eyes once more, forcing himself to accept what he had done that morning— but all he wanted from Ancom was to just hear qis _voice._

“Tell me what it’s like,” Commie paused as he drizzled a fair amount of lube onto his hand, putting the bottle down as he leaned his body over to have his face hover above Ancom’s as he hastily coated his cock with lubricant. 

“What is it like to be dead? To be in the afterlife?” Commie said this right as he pushed his length in, causing Ancom to breath in sharply followed by a moan afterwards. Commie paused, waiting for Ancom to say something, anything— but there was no response to Commie’s question.

Ancom knew that Commie didn’t actually care about what the answer could be, he just wanted to hear Ancom speak to him, to hear qis voice before qi was lost in the wind; but Ancom wasn’t here to give Commie what he wanted.

“Please tell me, Anarkiddie, please,” Commie pleaded, his voice breaking mid sentence as he started to create a pace with his thrusts, which were sloppy and uncoordinated. He bottomed out around every other thrust, which caused Ancom to roll qis eyes back into qis head almost everytime. Ancom’s moans were high and breathy, ignoring Commie’s pleads for a verbal response.

“Please, _koshka_ , please… please,” Commie’s face was scrunched up as if he was trying to hold in tears, which was true— and he was doing a bad job at hiding it. Ancom smiled while qi moaned, keeping eye contact with a distressed Commie, who’s sloppy thrusts mimicked the war going on in the communist’s mind.

“I want to hear your voice.” Commie cried, with a few tear drops landing on Ancom’s face and neck. Ancom stopped moaning in shock, pointing qis eyes downwards quickly before back up at Commie.

Ancom burst into hysterics.

Qi wouldn’t stop laughing at Commie, finding his tears humorous while clenching the sheets. Qi was giggling like a teenage girl who had just heard a funny joke, which just caused Commie to cry even more. The more tears that fell from Commie, the more Qi laughed, and Commie felt as if he was making love to a demon, something trying to drain his life source- but he just couldn’t stop.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Ancom, I’m sorry.. please, please forgive me, Anarkiddie. I’m so sorry.” Commie pleaded. His elbows gave out, falling onto his forearms, making Ancom and Commie’s faces closer than ever. 

“You murdered me this morning. And now you’re crying while fucking me bevause I won’t tell you what the afterlife is like? And— _aaah—_ you’re supposed to be strong?” Ancom said, qis voice breathy as qi watched Commie’s face contort with a wicked mixature of pleasure and emotional pain, tears falling from his face as Ancom loosely threw qis arms around Commie’s neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Their kiss was sloppy, wet, and mostly tongue. The communist moaned into the kiss, which was rare for him; he mostly controlled his own noises whenever he had sex with Ancom, but this time is… different from before.

Ancom pulled away aftee a few seconds, staring up at the communist with a shit eating grin. 

“You’re weak, aren’t you? You fucking statist scum. God, look at you. You killed me because you didn’t know how to reason with me, and now you’re fucking me because you can’t even keep your dick in your pants. You’re pathetic— _ah!”_ Ancom was cut off by a particularly hard, and angled thrust, which was repeated again and again by the statist. 

“I’m not weak, I’m not fucking..” The communist trailed off as he focused on nailing into Ancom’s prostate, feeling a sense of gratification everytime he hears a loud “ah” coming from the anarchist. Commie was frustrated, and if he wasn’t going to hear Ancom’s voice before qi goes away for good, he for sure wasn’t going to be emotionally dominated by qim.

“Fuck me, please, oh my god, it’s so good-” Ancom moaned out, qis voice high pitched and cracking, with qis skirt stuck inbetween their bodies, soaked with sweat as it keeps moving with each slam into the anarchist’s prostate. 

“You like that, Ancom? Just like that?” Commie said in a low tone, with his tears drying on his face as he felt Ancom bury qis face into that statist’s neck. Ancom moaned in response, slightly biting at Commie’s earlobe to try and suppress qis moans, despite it being ineffective.

“Mhm,” The anarchist sneaked out in between breaths, qis eyes screwed shut as Commie bottomed down with each and every thrust. It felt like qi was floating, high in the air and qi never wanted to come back, butterflies in qis stomach, feeling closer than ever.

“Are you going to come for me? Come for me, Anarkiddie, go on,” The communist teased qim in qis ear, making Ancom squirm.

“ _YES!_ Yes, oh my god, I-I,” Ancom felt the statist’s hand wrap around qis length, lightly pumping up and down and focusing his thumb around qis length. It was too much, it was so much- 

With a final thrust, Commie came inside qim, riding out his orgasm. He closed his eyes in exhaustion before pulling out, and collapsing onto the bed below him. He felt the feeling of ecstasy slowly leave his body, his chest heaving, trying to catch his breath. That was quite possibly one of the most powerful, if not the most intense sessions of his life. He opened his eyes again, turning his head to the side to face Ancom-

Ancom was gone. 

He was gone without a trace, not even a slight dent in the mattress, and the only proof of presence that was there were dents from Commies’s arms. There was come smeared on the sheets, which would have only been Commie’s despite him never pulling out.

The air felt still as complete silence rushes over the room, and the weight that was on Commie’s heart slowly came back as he realized-

Ancom was never there.

It was Commie’s own self guilt which made him hallucinate, and making the hallucination degrade Commie in a way to make himself snap, make himself feel more guilty than before— it was all just a mind game. 

Ancom was never there, not even in spirit, he was never coming back and this is what the statist’s mind used forced Commie to accept that, despite it being so.. cruel.

Commie didn’t sleep that night.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know whether this is hot or sad. hosad?
> 
> tell me if it sucked.
> 
> twitter : anarchobeck


End file.
